Page 1 of Entangled Vows
Prologue
Present
Leaning against the balcony railing of his Malabar Hill penthouse, Vikram Khurana took a slow sip of the amber liquid swirling in his glass. Earlier, he’d turned down an invitation from his friends, saying he was too busy with work to join them for a game of tennis at the clubhouse where his best friend Arjun lived. But the truth was, he just wanted to be alone and wallow in his thoughts.
The Arabian Sea stretched endlessly in front of him, its breathtaking hues of blue merging with the horizon. His tall frame, broad shoulders, and impeccably tailored suit contributed to his persona, giving him an air of effortless sophistication. His dark hazel eyes gleamed in the twilight, alight with quiet confidence and self-assurance. Power and grace clung to him as naturally as the salt in the sea.
The warm breeze, though, stirred up memories of his mother and the few trips they’d taken to Goa when he was a child. Those days with her, before she walked out of their lives, had been the happiest of his life. Even at thirty-two, he still couldn’t stop wondering why she’d left. The same question kept playing in his mind again and again, unanswered every time.
For years, Vikram had stayed away from his hometown, Dehradun, and all it stood for. Here, in Mumbai, he’d built a life on his own terms, far from the suffocating shadow of the Khurana Empire. But now, that self-imposed exile had come to an end. A cold dread settled in his chest as his younger brother Suraj’s words echoed in his mind like a death knell.
Their dad had lung cancer.
He had replayed Suraj’s call a hundred times in his head before it struck him; something about his brother’s voice had been off. It was all wound up and shaky. Maybe it was the shock of the news, or perhaps it could be the strain of managing the business alone while Dad was ill.
Vikram had tried to be there. He’d visited once in the past few days, and though his father was still unwell, he looked better than he had during their video call last week. Still, that call had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. The illness had mellowed down the man his father once was. His once powerful glare and unshakable authority had faded with time and sickness.
Vikram drew in a deep breath, letting the salty air fill his lungs and anchor him. Away from the city’s hustle and bustle, only the sea kept him company. Closing his eyes, he let the stillness seep in, relishing the quiet.
Just then, his phone rang.
His eyes snapped open. He pulled the phone from his pocket, and his father’s name lit up the screen.
That was odd. They had spoken just three days ago, and had again planned to speak next week. His father, Sanjyot Khurana, was a man of habit, and their weekly conversations had been a ritual for as long as Vikram could remember. Oncea pattern was set, it had to be followed… that was his dad’s mantra. He always stuck to his routine, unless something was wrong.
A knot of apprehension tightened in his gut as he swiped to answer.
“Hello, Dad.”
“Son, I need to talk to you,” rasped the voice. Something about it didn’t sound right.
“What’s going on?” Vikram asked, instantly on alert.
There was a long pause. “It’s Suraj. He’s left.”
Vikram’s grip on the phone tightened. “Left? What do you mean, left?”
“He went away… yesterday. He’d gone to meet the lawyer, came back home, packed his things, and just took off. He was furious, and I have no clue why.”
Vikram’s jaw clenched. “What the heck did he say?”
“He told me he refused to be my puppet any longer. He flat out said,‘Call your other son,’and walked out.”
Vikram frowned, confused, trying to process those words. Had Suraj really said that? Although his younger brother had always been persistent and occasionally outspoken, this level of defiance was very unlike him.
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No, he told me not to look for him, and now even his phone is switched off. I’m at a loss, Vicky. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“I will try to reach him,” Vikram said resolutely.
“No. What I need from you is...” His father’s voice faltered. “Come home. The doctors say I don’t have much time. Maybe three to four months max.”
A heavy silence followed. It was as if someone had sucked the air out of the room.
Vikram felt a sharp pang in his chest. He and his dad had never really gotten along, but he’d never pictured a world without him. His dad could be tough, overbearing, sometimes even impossible, but he had always been there for him. Unlike Vikram’s mother, he had stayed and held their fractured family together.
“Stop talking like that, Dad. You’ll be fine,” Vikram said, his voice tight.
